


Who You Want the Most

by ausmac



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: A hot summer's day in Stormwind City, and what a King does for a little relief...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragomir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/gifts).



It was untypically hot for Storwind; summer had hit hard and the air was humid with barely a breeze stirring the air.  Normally the sea winds would cool the city air but everything seemed weary on that day, even the ocean breezes.

Varian had carried out all his morning duties, sitting in his full armour and practically swimming in sweat.  By the time morning councils were done he was hungry, hot and increasingly annoyed.  As soon as he could escape the last annoying supplicant,  he fled to his rooms, stripped off his armour and climbed into comfortable leather and cloth before grabbing a packed lunch from the kitchen.  The cooks even provided a flask of ale packed in ice, and he loaded it up onto his gryphon and headed out for the coast.

He knew a small quiet cove where he could strip down and swim, and he dived into the cooling water with a shout of relief.  His thrashing around scared off every fish for a mile and when he was happily cleaned of sweat and tension, he climbed out to lay on the sand, still naked, and poured himself a cold mug of ale.

How long, he wondered, had it been since he’d last had sex?  Years, certainly.  There just never seemed to be the time and he could hardly indulge himself with just anyone.  There were any number of willing women – and men – who’d be happy to share his bed but it just never seemed the right people or the right opportunity.

But there was always a man’s good right hand.  Stretched out and at ease, he let his hand slide down over the damp stomach muscles to his groin.  He studied his cock, fingers absently working it, sliding up the foreskin, moving around to his balls and back underneath the good, firm flesh.  As he did he considered some of those who’d shown signs of interest.  None of them appealed to him, certainly none of them generated any arousal.  So he ventured further into the territory of his imagination.  His mind drifted through lists of names, going from the bizarre – Moira Thaurissan – and wasn’t that a peculiar thought – to the outright crazy – Garrosh Hellscream.

And that got a reaction.  His cock twitched and his eyebrows rose as he looked down at it.  _Woah there, lad, what’s got into you?_   He let his imagination slide in that direction, picturing the Orc Warchief in all his monstrous reality.  Large.  Very large.   Arms and legs like trees.  Hands the side of a man’s head.  Tusks.  Lots of them.  The big red body covered with clan markings, gleaming sweat under the sun as he probably would on a day like that.  Amber-coloured eyes like a mad plains cat, his body covered with piercings.

Did he have them everywhere, Varian wondered idly.  Perhaps he had one through the tip of his cock…and he imagined Garrosh stripping off his loincloth and yes, there it was, that dark red, enormous cock, stirring to arousal, the tip gleaming with a gold ring through the foreskin, coming out through the slit.

And of course he stroked it, watching the Varian of Imagination, tongue coming out to swipe across his lips, the fingers touching the ring as they moved forward, pulling it between thumb and forefinger, tug, tug, and Varian imagined the small, sharp _zing_ of pain that made his breath hitch as his own cock lifted its head, pushing against his palm.

He could almost taste it.  And then he could because his fantasy self was on his knees in front of the orc, hands tied behind his back, mouth open in obedient desire as those orc hands grasped his head to hold him steady.  His mouth would open, stretching wide to take that alien, exotic flesh into him and he’d suck on it, tongue swirling, teeth teasing, able to swallow it whole.  Garrosh would fuck his throat like a beast and he’d enjoy it, enjoy that dominating strength using him and….

…he realised his hand was pumping rapidly, that the cool was gone from his skin, that he was flushed and gasping and he felt his balls pulse and then he was coming, releasing his seed out in a stream and shuddering in an orgasm the like of which he’d not known since his early, enthusiastic youth.

The vision faded but, as he lay in a sweaty, limp sprawl on the sand, he couldn’t help wondering.  When had his fantasy mind gone so utterly outrageous in its tastes?  _Not to mention, how would it feel to have the real Garrosh in front of him at that moment, and to offer him the same exquisite surrender…._

 


End file.
